If Your Heart Wears Thin
by falloutboy.flip
Summary: I have no idea how the title correlates with the story. A story you'll end up forgetting.


_**Evie**_

_In all my thirteen years of life, I've never seen my mother surrender a fight. She'd hold her position as General and fight till death. However, it was always the opposing team that would fall in exhaustion of the war. It was always the opposing team that would lie dead in the battlefield, their tears of failure striking their cheeks like an abusive hand. _

_In all my thirteen years of life, I've never seen my mother crumble to the ground like a marionette set free. _

_So...why was my mother waving the white flag above her head? Why was she holding her hands up high, admitting defeat? _

"_Mom," Tristan said, imitating his mother's fall. He fell to his knees and pressed two comforting hands against Andrea's cheeks. "Mom," he lifted her chin up, "are you okay?"_

_Pedestrians stopped to watch, their cell phones at the ready. Remy, the youngest of us three, looked around hopelessly as she shooed the people away. _

"_Mama?" Tristan whispered, looking deeply into our mother's eyes. "What happened?"_

"Evie, get up."

Comment ignored.

A violent blow to my shoulder shook me up. "Do as I say, you ignorant child."

I sit up, shoulder aching, and rip the blanket from between my ankles. "There was no need to_ hit_ me!"

"Shut up and get ready for school." Lucia walks out of the crowded room. Her _clicking_ heels were distinct against the hardwood floor. They whispered my name with every step, growing fainter by the second.

Tristan and Remy lie in their beds, sound asleep, with no notice of what had just happened. It's better that way. One child worrying is just enough.

Somehow, I_ silently _rage out of the area just in time to see Lucia's retreating back enter her sons' bedroom. I can just see her in my mind as she wakes them up with a gentle kiss on the nose and a sweet singsong voice. It takes only a second, but my tears shed faster than rainfall.

Maxwell and Adam are Lucia's fraternal twins. Her only children—we're just a burden she's forced to carry.

What seemed like centuries ago, my mother was telling me, "It would be unfair to judge the petal from the seed."

Though it is unfair, it can still be accurate. If only my mother were here so I could tell her that straight out. I could even hold Maxwell Bruins up in one hand and Lucia Notika-Bruins in the other. They'd be equally high on the Wicked Scale.

Maxwell, the oldest by a few minutes, had eyes good enough to charm. They were big and round, soft and dark. Bu they were also misleading. They could turn from soft and dark to darkly sinister. Maxwell was the perfect clone of Lucia. I guess Adam was just the odd one out.

"Evie?" Remy's voice rings through the halls like church bells. "Evie?"

Running from the bathroom to my sister's aid, I finally realise that once again, I am too late.

Lucia stands before me, her back facing me. Petite Remy, I'm guessing, stands in front of me too, just hidden by a broad back.

"You stupid child," growls Lucia. "Did I not say to you the other day? Do _not_ yell in the house! You are a stubborn child, you are. Especially in this light of day, good gracious me. If you wake up one of my boys—"

"Where's Evie?" Remy cried. I can hear the faint crack in her voice, indicating the pertinent tears. "I want Evie."

_I'm here..._ I think, but silence is what emerges my opened mouth.

"Don't interrupt me!"

A menacing hand rises in the air, flat out, ready to strike. I'm still behind her, my body immobile with fright of what might come next.

I can just see Remy's face contort with fear, her tears blinding her vision...

Tristan, the heroic saviour of us three, grabs Lucia's outstretched hand and throws it away, catching _me_ instead.

"Not exactly the orphan I wanted to hit...but she'll do."

If it's true, the stories my mom used to tell me, about how we are all connected, all affected by pain...then I hope it hurt my mother as it did me.

"Syrup me," Maxwell says as he holds his perfectly shaped pancakes under my nose.

I pick up the jug of syrup and tip it gently across his plate. Swirls of thick liquid bob against the softness, looking so alluringly sweet, yet so dangerously unpredictable at the same time.

Maxwell takes my wrist and pulls it up. I hide my wince by coughing.

"That's enough syrup."

"You're welcome..." My arm falls painfully.

Tristan, four years younger, says nothing until Maxwell is out of earshot. "He's an idiot. Don't worry."

Tristan was trying to make me laugh. Laughing isn't an option. I'm always worrying. Presumably, there was never a time of day when I wasn't emerged with anxiety of what was to occur.

I, being the normal person I am, picture my day like a mystifying time bomb, ticking away happily. I await its explosion, which could be any time now.

We all have time bombs in our life. It's just that...mine likes to set off regularly.

_"We've been here for two weeks," Tristan complained, "when do you think we'll be able to go home?"_

_I looked up into Tristan's deep eyes. I really never gave much to Tristan's benefit. He never gave me any either. For some reason, our lives revolved around our youngest sibling, Remy. It had been like that ever since she entered the world. Our love for each other was forced to split in two as we cared for the new child we would suddenly care for the most. Remy was the basis of our lives. _

_I hesitated, thinking of an easy way I can explain the situation to him. "Well, this is our home now..."_

_Remy's eyes grew wider, looking from me to Tristan, as if waiting for a loose laugh...as if a laugh can bring everything back to normal. _

_The three of us had the same eyes; big, olive green, and heartbreaking, as my mother would put it. But only I can see the difference in our eyes...the windows to the soul._

"_No..." Remy whispered, "you lie." _

_I shook my head. "I...I don't lie..."_

_We have only been living here for fourteen days. But they felt like forever. Tristan and Remy counted the days, marking it on the calendar, hoping that by tomorrow, everything will be back to normal. _

_Remy ran down the spiralling stairs, Tristan following shortly behind. The titter tatter of their tiny feet were like thunderous applauds, growing fainter with every step. _

"_Tell me it's not true!" Remy sobbed. _

_I struggled to follow. I watched the scene from behind, Tristan at my side. _

"_What, darling?" Lucia said, bending down to level with Remy. _

"_I want to go home." _

_I've never really been able to construct my words to correlate with my thoughts, but that sentence alone was good enough. _

"_I want to go home," Remy repeated louder. _

"_Well, I want you to go home too," Lucia said nodding her head. _

_Her tone wasn't sympathetic, but apathetic. Lucia's face hardened, her lips pursing with a subtle edge of annoyance. "I'm not so thrilled to have you here either."_

_Remy's face contorted. Nobody ever spoke to her with such malice. We loved her too much. "Meanie."_

_There was a protruding smack, a piercing cry, and utter silence. A red mark, the shape and size of Lucia's pale hand, etched across Remy's left cheek. _

_Tristan fell to his knees. For some indefinite reason, I did not. _

"Evie Bruins!" a softly angered voice urged me awake.

My head snaps up.

"Did you finish your test?" Mrs. Phoen asks delicately.

_You mean the test I didn't study for?_ "No," I admit, my head lowering once more.

"So what are you doing snoozing?"

I smile. There are so many wiseass comments I can use in a situation such as this. Instead, all I say is, "Thinking."

"Well, after this test, you can write an essay about your thoughts."

My jaw drops.

"Well, if they're so important you need to use up your Test Time to think, then why aren't they significant enough to write down on a piece of paper?"

_Make sense, woman._ I nod.

"Get back to work." This she says to everyone.

Before leaving class, I say in a strong voice, "Laey."

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Phoen asks.

"Laey," I say, my voice cracking. "Evie Laey...not Evie Bruins."

"_Excuse me?_"

"At the beginning of class, you called me '_Evie Bruins_'. That's not my name. My name is Evie Laey."

"It says here your name is Miss Evie Bruins," she reads off the attendance sheet.

"No matter what that paper says, my name is Evie Laey."

Mrs. Phoen nods. "Then who is this 'Bruins'?"

I consider the truth. I consider telling this stranger in my life about the hatred my siblings and I are forced to endure. About my worries and pities for what has now become our life. About the fact that if only there was a way to shield my brother and sister from the horrific present and bring them back to the pathetic, yet wonderful, life, I would.

Will my English teacher laugh? Will she show compassion? Neither of which I want. So instead, I say, "I don't know."

As I walk through the halls, I think of what it would be like to be trapped in a well. There's nothing to hold on to since the bearings are either slippery with water or slimy with goo. I can't fall in exhausted defeat or I'll drown. Really, the only way to escape is up.

Then it hits me. That's exactly what I'm trying to do.

Craig punches my shoulder. Funnily enough, it was the same arm Lucia punched this morning.

"Nobody likes this arm today," I say wincing.

Craig, my only friend on this planet, smiles. "What do you mean?" he says curiously as he takes his usual seat behind me.

I open my mouth, think twice—"Never mind."

"What? I want to get the joke."

"I mess up the punch line a _lot_," I smile. Does my smile look strained? Can he notice?

I concentrate on the features of him that make me smile, hoping that that'll help loosen me up. My eyes wander down his neck, where his mother's ring hangs on a chain. His hair is a soft brown. Easy enough. However, his eyes take the cake. His eyes are indescribable.

I could tell you that they were gray. But they're not. I could say that they're blue. But they definitely are not. I couldn't tell you that they were green. And maybe I might be right. But to truly say officially what colour his eyes are would most likely be a lie. Because...I don't know what colour his eyes are.

"So...what about that math test," he says awkwardly, his brows furrowing.

I spin, away from him, around in my seat and face the blackboard that's so dirty it might as well convert itself to "whiteboard."

"Yeah...math test. It was hard."

Craig laughs, "we didn't have it yet."

Have you ever blushed so hard your cheeks went numb? All I can say is that I'm glad my back is facing him. "I know," I say in a small voice.

"Sure."

I take notes from the board, and subconsciously from my science teacher's words. But all I think about within the duration of that hour is whether Craig is staring at the back of my head, thinking fanatically, the same way I think about him.

My hand scrawls across the page, flying, soaring, scratching words I cannot understand. All I absorb is what his thoughts could possibly be. All I hope for is that he had the same fascination with the back of my head as I did about a manifestation of him in my mind.

And as the bell finally rings, relieving me of my strain, I finally look down. A gasp escapes me—my paper reads nothing but "Craig O'Conner," overlapping, diagonally, and slanted.

My stomach flips when I hear my teacher say, "expect a quiz."

_**Tristan**_

We walk home in silence. I play a game; _Find the Loudest Sound._ In the end, our rapid breathing was the loudest.

No matter how fun the game was, it's only a matter of time until we're standing in front of that house, which is way bigger than our old home. The three of us stare up at it, our chins rising up as we search any difference. All I do is picture it in flames. This makes me smile.

Evie swings the front gates open and takes a step. My smile melts.

Admitting that school was the most fun part of my day would be pathetic. So I won't. Instead, I'll just tell you that I'd rather be there instead of here.

It's a funny feeling having my stomach twist into binding knots. My back curves inwards and my neck lurches forward. "Let's get this over with."


End file.
